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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175474">Don't Forget Your Roots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own'>I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Barduil [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Barduil - Freeform, Half-elven!Bard, Immortal!Bard, Why do my bois not have character tags?!?!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:40:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,764</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a mystery that has spanned two ages is finally solved. </p><p>Or</p><p>In which Bard is half-elven and Thran hasn't figured out they've known each other for fifty-five years and Bard hasn't aged a single day more...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bard the Bowman/Thranduil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Barduil [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/267661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don't Forget Your Roots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope the family trees show right, hahaha, they took the longest of his whole venture and I couldn't be bothered fixing up the spelling mistakes in them because I didn't notice until I was already too far gone to fix them, so...</p><p>In other news, Barduil is once more destroying my entire damn life, so...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bard isn’t human, least not fully. He’s not fully anything. He’s not mortal either. There had been a time, in his youth, where his parents thought that perhaps he would be mortal in the way that his mother and grandfather weren’t, but he reached his majority and didn’t grow a single day older and they knew.</p><p>When his beard had started to grow in, he’d been surprised, had assumed that he wouldn’t grow one, like his grandfather. But he’d been pleased when it had grown, without it he looked too young, too other-worldly and he didn’t want that. Especially not after learning the reason for the Master’s hatred of him. He does wish his mother could have let Grandfather murder the idiot, but alas, that was too much to ask for.</p><p>He’s twenty when his father dies, illness had caught him in the winter and he never recovered. He watched his mother wither away in the months that followed and begged her to stay, but he already knew that she would be leaving him. At twenty, he loses his mother and father and begins working as the bargeman for the Woodland Realm.</p><p>At twenty-five he meets Florrie; he knows within moments of meeting her that she is like him. Stuck halfway between belonging anywhere and, therefore, belonging nowhere. They spend the majority of their courting days chasing each other through the trees at the edge of the wood at night, giggling like little children and pretending that they are elves of the wood and the moon and the stars. All the while, they know that when morning comes, they’ll be forced to return to their lives among mortal men, where they do not fit in. They know already that they do not fit in under the trees, either, but it’s fun to pretend.</p><p>His grandmother dies suddenly when he is thirty-three and he already knows without his grandfather needing to say a word, that he will lose him, too. The morning after his grandfather passes, he clutches Florrie close to him and they promise each other that they will not fade, no matter what happens, because one of them must always be there for the life that grows in Florrie’s womb even then.</p><p>His wife dies when he is forty-one, sickness and age could not claim her, but the birthing bed did. She leaves him three beautiful children and he promises that he will raise his children right, that he will love them always and ensure they know their mother and where she came from.</p><p>He is fifty when a dragon burns his town to ashes. Fifty when he does what countless others have failed to do. Fifty when he slays a dragon and becomes a king.</p><p>He is seventy-five when he has to sit his lover down and point out the fact that they’ve known each other for fifty-five years and he hasn’t aged a day. This is when he realizes that time truly means nothing for his grandfather’s people. </p>
<hr/><p>Ever since Bard abdicated his throne to Bain, citing old age, and disappeared into the Woodland Realm to be with his lover, he notices the way his lover has changed. Where once his lover made as much time as possible to be with him, now he pulls away, avoids him, and does what he can to be elsewhere, which is made easier by the fact they’re still sneaking about like they did in those early days. For all the affection they <em>used </em>to show in public, their relationship is one that has never been out in the open and now it seems to be slipping away. If Bard didn’t know better, he’d assume he’s made a mistake, that what he thought was love between them was only affection, but knows he isn’t wrong.</p><p>He has more patience than most, but even his patience is not infinite.</p><p>“Why are you avoiding me?” his voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he cannot ignore this situation any longer. If he had wanted to engage in a charade, he would have stayed in Dale. His lover is silent, looking at him from across the room, his lover’s eyes flickering to the doorway that Bard is now blocking. “Thranduil, answer the question.”</p><p>“I’m not avoiding you.” Thranduil finally answers, sighing and crossing the room to pour himself a glass of wine, as ever.</p><p>“I haven’t seen you in a week.” Bard points out, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes tracking Thranduil’s every movement.</p><p>“I have responsibilities and-“</p><p>“Don’t.” Bard says, cutting him off and shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll accept whatever you have to say, as long as it’s the truth. You’ve never purposely lied to me before, don’t start now.” Thranduil is silent and still, a goblet of wine clutched tight in his hand as he looks down into the liquid depths. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it and I will leave, you’ll never have to see me again.”</p><p>“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Thranduil says, the words leaving him in a rush.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That you’ll leave and I’ll never see you again.” The elf answers, slowly putting the glass of wine down and looking across to Bard, his eyes shining with tears Bard has never seen him shed. “I thought I knew what I was doing when I let myself love you, Bard. But you’re mortal and I’m not and I can’t-“ Thranduil chokes on his words, swallowing thickly and looking away. Bard stares at him in stunned disbelief, before he let’s out an amused laugh, that he just can’t hold in.</p><p>“I’m not mortal, I never have been.” Bard says, watching as Thranduil’s eyes snap back to him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“My mother was half-elven, so was my grandfather.” Bard answers, cocking his head to the side and frowning at his lover. “I thought you would have figured it out by now, love.”</p><p>“How?” Thranduil exclaims, even as something like hope lights in his eyes.</p><p>“Love. We’ve known each other for fifty-five years! Do I look any older than I did the day we met? When you decided you just had to meet your new bargeman and decide his worth for yourself?” Bard demands, looking intently at Thranduil’s face, watching the confusion and disbelief that forms there.</p><p>“It can’t have been that long, surely.” Thranduil denies, but Bard can see him doing the maths in his head.</p><p>“Love, it’s been fifty-five years, trust me.” Bard promises, sees the moment Thranduil has counted the years in his head and realized the truth.</p><p>“I’m so stupid.” Thranduil whispers, burying his head in his hands and groaning. “I’ve been breaking both our hearts for nothing.”</p><p>“Yes.” Bard answers, laughing softly and shaking his head. “Honestly, Thran, I thought you’d figured it out!”</p><p>“Who?” Thranduil asks, looking at him suddenly, Bard just frowns and shakes his head in confusion. “Your elven ancestor?”</p><p>“Oh. Well that’s kind of hard to say, most of them were half-elves.” Bard explains, then he hums. “I guess Lindis but… look, I’ll just draw the family tree.” He mutters, crossing to the writing desk and sinking down into the chair, pulling blank parchment from the drawer, and starting to write. From a young age, his grandfather had ensured he could recite his family tree without prompting or hesitation.</p><p>
  <em>“You are born of noble blood, Bard. No matter where life takes you, you must never forget the blood that runs through your veins is the blood of kings.” </em>
</p><p>His grandfather had just laughed and ruffled his hair when Bard had pointed out that Girion had only been <em>Lord </em>of Dale, not a King.</p><p>He starts the tree from the bottom, the way he had learned it in the first place. So lost in his writing is he, that he doesn’t notice when Thranduil appears at his shoulder, he doesn’t notice when Thranduil grips the back of the chair to steady himself, and he doesn’t notice the hard look that has formed on Thranduil’s face.</p><p>He draws the link between his great, great, great grandfather and great, great, great, great grandfather, marking them as brothers and the family is complete. He carefully puts the quill in its stand and blows across the parchment, drying the ink.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“There we are. The family tree of one King Bard of Dale.” He announces, leaning back and looking up at Thranduil, he frowns when he sees the far away look in Thranduil’s eyes, notes the way his lover’s hands are gripped so tightly to the back of the chair, his skin has gone white. “Love?”</p><p>“It always comes back to Doriath.” Thranduil whispers, his voice shaking as tears slip from his eyes.</p><p>“Thranduil?” Bard asks, nervously biting his lip. Thranduil gives a quiet little laugh and leans down to pick up the quill, dipping it in the ink pot and beginning to amend the family tree.</p><p>Bard watches in surprise at the names Thranduil adds, they’re not new on the family tree, they’re just alternate names. Names that Bard <em>knows, </em>names that <em>everyone</em> knows, if they know anything of Doriath, as Bard’s grandfather and great-uncle taught him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“That’s not possible.” Bard whispers, but he remembers his grandfather’s words, remembers the argument his grandfather and his great-uncle had when they all learned he wasn’t mortal.</p><p><em>“He will not be recognized! They will not accept him!” Uncle Elurin grumbles, glaring at Bard from across the room, Bard doesn’t know what he’s done to upset his great-uncle, who has always enjoyed telling him stories and teaching him of his grandfather’s culture. “He is too </em>different.”</p><p><em>“He is the </em>heir<em>.” Grandfather answers, his voice brooking no argument. “If the day comes that he </em>must <em>step into his own, he will claim his birth right and they </em>will <em>accept him. They have no right to do otherwise!” his grandfather snaps, then the brother’s devolve into a heated argument at a volume so quiet not even Bard can hear what they are saying. So, instead of trying to hear more, he turns away and gets ready to start his shift.</em></p><p>He’d assumed they were arguing over Dale, though why they thought he’d want to claim a ruin had been beyond him at the time. Now, he understands and he doesn’t want to.</p><p>When he looks up at his lover, he finds Thranduil watching his face intently, searching for something, his lover doesn’t speak, just keeps looking at him. Bard sighs and looks away.</p><p>“My grandfather always told me I was born of kings, that I was born to <em>be</em> a king.” He admits, rubbing his eyes, feeling suddenly like crying. “I always just assumed they were talking about Dale. He was talking about <em>Doriath</em>.”</p><p>“<b>No</b>.” Thranduil answers, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. “<em>No</em>, he wasn’t, Bard. Elu Thingol wasn’t <em>just </em>the King of Doriath. He was considered to be the King of <em>All</em> Sindar.”</p><p>“Fuck, no.” Bard exclaims, shaking his head. “No, no, nope, no. Dale is… <em>was</em> more than enough for me!” there’s a moment, of silence before Bard remembers what his great-uncle had said and he laughs, the sound quickly turning to sobs. “Fuck, that’s what Uncle Elurin was talking about.” He says, through hitched breaths.</p><p>“Bard.” He looks to Thranduil, even though his chest aches and he can’t seem to bring enough air into his lungs. “Bard, listen to me. There is no need for you to do anything, now or in the future regarding this. Alright?” Thranduil says, his voice pitched low and so soothing it seems to reach right into Bard’s mind and quiet all his fears. “No one is going to expect anything from you unless you want to give it, I promise. If the day comes, where we need another High King, there are others who it could be.”</p><p>“I know.” Bard says, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he gets control of himself. “Like… like Elrond… and my cousins.” He whispers, rubbing the tears from his eyes.</p><p>“Cousins?” Thranduil asks, looking back at the family tree. Bard sniffs and reaches for the quill, to add them in. Three cousins that he has never met but has heard stories of from his uncle.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh. Hmm, that’s quite interesting.” Thranduil mutters, reading the names with a little laugh. “I wonder if they know.”</p><p>“I don’t … I don’t think so.” Bard answers, resting the quill back in its stand.</p><p>“You ready for another surprise?” Thranduil asks, an amused glint in his eyes, Bard breathes deeply and scowls at him.</p><p>“Do I have a choice?”</p><p>“No. But it’s a good surprise, I think.” Thranduil answers, leaning over to pick up the quill, but he hesitates before putting quill to parchment. “This… changes nothing between us. I love you.”</p><p>“I still love you, too.” Bard replies, brow furrowing as he watches as Thranduil starts writing. </p><p>
  
</p><p>His breath catches in his throat and slowly he lifts his eyes from the parchment to stare at his lover, who also, apparently, is a cousin. “Did you elves <em>ever</em> figure out that inbreeding is really bad?”</p><p>“Don’t judge us! The First and Second ages were wild times. There was a<em> lot </em>happening.” Thranduil argues, though there is laughter in his voice. “But if you must know, yes, we did figure that out, thank you.”</p><p>“Clearly not, if <em>we’re</em> an indication.” Bard replies, looking down at the family tree once more. “Do you want another surprise?” Bard asks, smirking at Thranduil who groans.</p><p>“What <em>now</em>? Isn’t this enough of a revelation for a single evening? For <em>both</em> of us?”</p><p>“Hmm.” Is Bard’s only reply as he reaches for the quill, a laugh bubbling in his throat.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“</p><p>“It’s always bloody Doriath!” Thranduil grumbles, Bard just laughs and then sighs.</p><p>“So, Daeron is from Doriath, too?”</p><p>“Yes! He was Thingol’s bloody scribe! We thought him long dead! But we thought the same of Elured and Elurin as well.” Thranduil rubs at his eyes and groans. “You don’t have to claim anything, there’s nothing really to claim at this point, but… we should tell people. I’m sure Celeborn would be happy to learn he has more relatives still living, and Elrond, at least, would probably like to know that he has cousins. Valar, he probably would like to know that he has a living uncle.”</p><p>“I don’t know if he is still living.” Bard points out, frowning at the tree. “I haven’t seen him since my grandfather passed, long before Smaug came.”</p><p>“Well, either way, I think this is something that should be shared, Bard. Finally learning what happened to Elurin and Elured is… incredible.” Here Thranduil pauses and looks at Bard who stares back and simply raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been wanting to ask since I found you after the Battle of Five Armies, but you were mortal and I…” Thranduil pauses, shaking his head as he breathes in deep and lets it out slowly. “Will you marry me?”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure we’re already married in the elvish custom, but… if it’ll make you stop hiding me in the shadows, yes, I’ll marry you.” Bard agrees, sees the smile that lights up Thranduil’s face, only to dim a few moments later, Bard frowns.</p><p>“I didn’t… I never meant for you to feel like something I was hiding or that I was ashamed of, I just… I didn’t think I’d be able to keep you so, I wanted everything that we had to be just… ours and no one else’s.” Thranduil admits, sighing. “I was foolish.”</p><p>“It’s alright. We both… we made assumptions and those assumptions were wrong. We’ll do better in future.”</p><p>“Yes, we will.” Thranduil agrees, gently pulling Bard up from the chair. “Let’s go to bed, tomorrow we can scandalize my kingdom with the news of our affair.”</p><p>“Technically, we’re already married.”</p><p>“Yes, but also technically, we are each still married to our wives, so we’re having an affair…” Thranduil points out, Bard laughs, a full belly laugh, leaning into Thranduil for support, unable to stop laughing as he lets Thranduil all but drag him to bed.</p>
<hr/><p>Bard is seventy-five when he learns he is <em>the</em> heir of Elu Thingol.</p><p>It changes nothing, but it also changes everything, as is the way of such secrets when they come to light.</p><p>He was <em>always</em> the heir of Elu Thingol, even if he never knew it.</p><p>He was <em>always</em> the heir of Girion, even if he never wanted it.</p><p>He was born of kings and a King he became, just as his Grandfather foretold.</p>
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